Beautiful
by Sicil
Summary: Second chapter up. Yaoi. Tasuki is beautiful, but is Chichiri?
1. Default Chapter

**Beautiful (1/3)**

**By:  **Sicil****

**Rating:  **R . . . wow, it's not descriptive enough to rate an NC-17, for once.

**Pairing:**  TC

**Comments:**  Happy belated Valentines Day, though I've never been much of a sentimentalist.  ^^;  Please comment here or send to bronzejarith@hotmail.com.

The TC Fanfiction Page has relocated to http://taschi.cjb.net, since Geocities has, very loyally, gone all crappy on me.

Without further ado, onto the story.  Two parts, obviously, so to be continued.  **_Edit:  Three parts, actually._**

*****

Oh yes.  He was just so, so beautiful.

Look how his silken locks caught the light, glistening wildfire, curled into the touch like a kitten waiting to be stroked.  You admire the curve of his neck as he turns away.  How the slender band of gold in his ear provided startling contrast against his darkly toned skin.   How his movements were graceful; never strained, flowing from one into another.

How tightly the two of you fit together.

But that last thought was fond remembrance, enough to heat the flesh, yet left only an unsatisfied desire when the moment had passed you by.  You've always been vaguely surprised at how intangible the feeling became once you lay sated, breathing heavily, sweat-laden.  But then, it was then that your lover murmured into your ear for you to turn over, if you'd please, and then the whole experience started over again.

Though it wasn't sex all the time, at least that's what you'd like to think.  You wouldn't see it on the surface, but he's got a very quick mind, and can argue his way out of practically anything, if he tries.  So your evenings are usually used for debate, where you naturally disagree with every one of his opinions.  Usually, the time for talk ends when he throws up his hands and storms off to sulk, but only after you've taken a few blistering hits, as well.  Life can't be too easy, after all.

You're usually the one to make peace, as you've never been one to like the feel of tension in the room.  Besides, he's absolutely _horrible_ in apologies; as most of his begin and end with profanities.  Add that to a stubborn streak, even when he's thrice-wrong and _knows _it, and you've got your hands quite full.  Yet you're always quick to smooth things over, as that is when the trivialities can cease and the pleasure may begin.

You love him in bed.  The sight of him, the touch, the feel-- and then you're halfway there already.  It's remarkable how aroused you can be with a single glance of him sprawled out on your bed.  Unclothed, naturally.  Pouting that sexy, devilish pout he has, inviting and challenging you at the same time.  How you soar with that look.  To you, it's greater than any declaration of love ever to leave his lips.

He hates it when you tease him.  He loves the sensation, but hates the wait, however more mind-blowing the experience will become.  For him, it's simply you, him, and damn the rest of the world.  He wants your relief even more than he wants his; that is why he detests the wait.  But you tease him anyway, until he's straining in your grasp for just a little more-- only a _little _more-- for his release, a respite in this pleasure and torment all the same.

"Touch me," you whisper.  But he can't-- he's too far gone already.  That's not a problem; the sight of his shivering, arching body is more than adequate for you.

You look into his half-closed, misted-over eyes, even as your hand moves its way down his back and lower.  A hand stops you there, and his eyes open to meet yours.  "That's enough, 'Chiri."

You nod.  You're satisfied, yet you're never sure if he is or not.  Your thoughts must've skimmed across your face, for he says, more gently, "I love you."

And that is all you needed to hear.  "I love you, Tasuki," you say, and curl up beside him.  He is so warm.

You're happy when he's happy; that's how matched the two of you are.  It doesn't matter that you almost never have actual intercourse anymore-- you love his presence beside you more than anything.

You fall asleep with a smile upon your face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Beautiful (2/3)**

**By:  **Sicil****

**Rating:  **R . . . wow, it's not descriptive enough to rate an NC-17, for once.

**Pairing:**  TC

New page at http://taschi.cjb.net.

And fine; I lied, there are going to be three parts instead of two.  I'm sure everyone's heartbroken.  ^^;

*****

You don't know why Tasuki never seems to go out anymore.  Well, you're precisely sure if it is truly the case, with your long work hours and what not, so maybe you're putting the whole situation out of proportion.  But you can't quench the feeling that something is . . . not right.  Everything seems _too_ perfect.

But perfection is nice, and you can stand a little tranquility in your life.  If one was to say you were busy at work, it would be quite a crude understatement.  You work long into the evening, long enough that Tasuki has convinced you to eat there, and no, he will _not_ burn down the kitchen while you are gone.  You suspect he eats out most of the time, anyway, as there are seldom any dirty dishes to be washed.  And you know better than to suspect _him_ of washing them.

It's morning, and you won't deny it.  You heave yourself into a sitting position, cringing a little as you leave the warmth of the sheets.  Still, you take a moment to look down at the sleeping man beside you.  You wonder, is there a more beautiful creature in all the world?  Though sentimental thoughts will get you nowhere, you can't help but shift a hand through his silken strands.  They seem to come alive in your hands, and you marvel at the texture.

And suddenly, _he's_ alive as well.  All you notice is a flash of cat-slitted eyes before he playfully tackles you to the floor.  In the nude of course, so you arch a bit as your back protests for being exposed to such a cold surface.  That is soon off your mind, as Tasuki straddles you deftly, taking your hands and wrapping them around your own, half-growing erection.

"Come for me, 'Chiri," he growls softly into one ear, your heated breaths mingling in between.  You promptly do just that, all over your new wooden floor, hardly caring about the mess as your lover hits his peak a few moments later.  He sighs contently and lazily stretches out on top of you.

You swat him on the head.  "I'm going to be late for work again if you don't get off of me," you scold.  And just to add some payback of your own, you add, "And _you're_ going to clean that up this time."

*****

Of course, he finds a way to get out of it, but you're used to that.  You wonder what you're not used to, being around Tasuki for so long.  You're both sitting at the table, and he's still grumbling about being woken up early, though pointedly ignoring your suggestion of going back to bed.  So you wrap your hands around your mug of steaming coffee which you made, fresh from the grinder, and listen to him carry on.  You feel more than a little worried, though, as you notice that his breakfast remains virtually untouched.

"Eat a little bit," you urge him at one point.

He shrugged.  "I guess I'm just not that hungry today, Chichiri," he says, flashing you a grin.

And then you're putting your shoes on, aware that he is leaning against the wall, just watching you.  When you're done, he approaches and kisses you gently.  "Have a good day at work today."

You smile at him.  "Try to get out, Tasuki.  It's not good for you to be in here all day."

He nods.  "Maybe I'll go out with a couple of my friends or something."

"Bye, love."  You fly out the door, knowing that if you don't creatively drive in and out of traffic today, you'll be late.

Well, it's not the first time this has happened.

*****

"Chichiri, if I could see you for a moment?"

You walk into his office.  "Yes?" you say politely.  After all, he _is _your boss, and it wouldn't be appropriate otherwise.

"Take a seat," he gestures nervously, as if unsure of exactly how to deal with you.  You seem to have that affect on people, you've noticed.  You sit, relaxed, and wait for him to speak, which he finally does.  "I was just wondering if you were all right?"

"I've been fine," you reply genuinely.  "Is there anything you have noticed in particular?"

"Well . . . no.  I just . . ." he coughs absently.  "Well ah, . . . you see— after that situation—"

"Has there been anything wrong with my work performance?"  You really don't like interrupting people, but this conversation has started to make you feel just a little bit irritated.  You really hate how people have been acting around you recently, as if they knew something you didn't want them to know.

You really don't care.

"No, no!  It's not that," he replies hastily, and struggles for a while to get his point across.  "Well . . . well . . . just as long as you're doing well," your boss finishes lamely.

"Perfectly," you reply evenly, and turn to leave.  "If you won't be requiring anything else, I'll be in my office."  You pretend you don't notice his worried and perplexed expression.  After all, there is a time to work and there is a time for other things.

One of those other things is waiting for you on your desk.  Yes, physically _on_ it, splayed carelessly over all your precious papers and documents, tapping fingers impatiently along the top of your monitor.

You seriously consider it, yet you really don't think closing your eyes and blinking a few times would change anything.  "What are you doing here?" you ask, before turning around and closing the door.  You congratulate yourself silently on the tight rein you keep around your anger.

Big, innocent, golden eyes peer up at you.  "Because I missed you."

You sigh, and take a seat beside him, only slightly more heedful of your day's work piled underneath the two of you.  He leans against you, and your arms automatically cradle him, just like you've done every other time he's in one of his moods.  After all, his mental well-being matters just as much as your own does, if not more.  You know better than to speak, and you just sit there cuddling him, waiting for him.  Not necessarily to start talking, for you know that sometimes, he just doesn't feel like talking.

As if reading your mind, his cat-eyes turn upwards to regard you.  "I feel like . . . hmm."

You stroke a hand through his silky, untamed hair.  "What do you feel like?"  You know exactly where to take it without being prodding, condescending, or openly prying.  Tasuki's still young, and takes many things defensively if he cannot see your hidden intentions.

He plays idly with your collar button for a while, gives you a delicious _that_ look, and promptly lowers his head.

You discover, surprisingly enough, that you feel like doing that, too.

That is, until the two of you are rudely interrupted by an insistent knocking on the door.  You shove Tasuki off gently, take a few breaths to calm yourself (and to tell the other you, _no_, he shall not be getting any yet), and generally strive to look as if you hadn't been contemplating all the possible usages for your office desk just moments before.

A young man, all serious airs and professionally-tailored clothing, comes in after the second barrage of knocks.  You know him well enough-- Kouji, the boss' secretary and the prime reason why the company was running as well as it did.  Actually, immodestly put, _you're_ the reason he's in the company at all, as you were the one who got him the introduction.  Kouji used to be just one of Tasuki's friends, a simple kid desperately needing some aim in his life.  That is, until you found he was taking third and forth year advanced management and accounting courses, and acing every one of them.  Then, dressing him in one of your old suits, you paraded him in for an interview without allowing him one word in protest.

He's definitely changed, you think, looking at him with a critical eye.  Kouji choose his own suits now, and dresses in clothes which compliment him pleasingly.  He also trimmed his hair in a current fashion; hair so black that it appeared blue under certain lighting.  He has on designer glasses, which give him a professional, imposing air.  And frankly, he's changed so drastically that your lover isn't best friends with him anymore.

Rather, they're somewhere close to hating each other.

You can't really miss it; how Tasuki glares at him from his perch on the corner of the desk.  Every fiber of his being screams at Kouji to turn, exit, and never come back, but you doubt Kouji cares about his opinion.  So you're the one who is going to have to prevent a hissing furball of a boyfriend from tackling your co-worker.  Wonderful.

"Yes?"  You're sitting behind your desk by this time, and desperately hoping the lump in your pants will soon subside.  Well, it really doesn't help that _it_ hopes to be appeased just as quickly, but you've mastered the art of balancing work and a hormone-driven boyfriend.  You think.

Kouji, typically, ignores Tasuki completely.  You can't blame him, since your lover is currently doing everything in his power to radiate feelings of unwelcome.  "I thought I heard something," he says, bluntly.  "I was only wondering if you were all right."

"Yes, of course," you reply with a perfectly bland tone; you've gotten used to his manner.

"Good, good," he answers without missing a beat, "I was hoping to get your opinion on some of the presentations I have to make to the boss today, specifically in . . ."

You've got to give Tasuki credit.  He tries to bear though Kouji's very vivid description on the ethics of business economics, yet five minutes into the speech, he becomes bored.  Utterly.  Incredibly.  Bored.  With a final glare at Kouji, who still shows no sign of winding down, he gives you a quick peck on the cheek and murmurs that he will be back later.  Your eyes follow him around until he leaves.

"Chichiri."  Kouji's voice has suddenly lost all of its boring monotone and he's staring, quite intently, directly at you.  You blink and turn your attention back to him.  "What do you think you're doing?"

Clever.  You really didn't think there was a meeting today; and there isn't.  You wonder how many times Kouji can pull this one off before Tasuki figures it out.  "Listening to you?" you hazard, not quite sure of his meaning.

He presses his palms on the desk and leans forward, his eyes quick, intent.  "I know exactly what you're doing, Chichiri.  You may have the others fooled, but I've known you too long.  And I know you too well.  You're . . . you're wasting yourself, creating a little fantasy world that could never exist in the first place."

You're more amused than anything else.  "A fantasy world?  Really.  And by what factors do you base this observation on-- given that there are any in the first place?"

_"Don't give me that shit."_  You're stunned, and your mouth drops open; you haven't heard him swear since he was that kid on the streets.  You didn't know he _knew_ how to swear anymore!  He slowly moves around the table, speaking, eyes always on you as he does.  "I know you.  I know what you're doing to yourself.  I can see your pain, even if you're blind to it.  I . . ."  He stops as he reaches your side, conflicting emotions sprinting across his face.

"I don't understand."  No, you don't, not at all.

He bites on his lower lip, and with a single motion, rotates your chair so that you are facing him.  With your still-apparent erection revealed to the world.  "I wish you could see how much you are hurting yourself," he remarks, quietly.  "If you could only see how much you were being betrayed . . . but you can't."  Now he steps back so he's no longer looming over you, and you're surprised to see a hopeless yearning, suppressed and restricted, darken his features.  "I wish you'd let me . . . take care of that for you.  I wish-- you'd let me in, Chichiri.  I would treat you better than he ever did."

You're startled by this sudden crack in Kouji's usually emotionless facade, and even more so in his very apparent feelings for you, but . . . all you can think of to ask is, "Is . . . is Tasuki doing anything I should be aware of?"  A thousand different possibilities race through your head, each more alarming than the last.

Kouji stares at you hard, as if trying to pierce right through you.  And then, as if not seeing what he wanted to see, he explodes, slamming his fist down on the table.  "_Fuck_, Chichiri!  You should know better than anyone else!  I . . . I wish you could just . . . just . . ."  His voice comes very near to cracking, and with one final, desperate glance your way, he flees the room.


End file.
